Grey
by past decembers
Summary: His memory is like a leaf on the first day of autumn – desperately clinging to the tree branch before finally slipping away, torn away by the wind, drifting to the ground. - oneshot; post-TLH.


**Grey**

_by past decembers_

It's been four days since the arrival of the Greeks.

Lately he's been feeling a bit lethargic. Ever since he found himself in the Roman camp – why he feels the need to add the word _Roman _in front he can't remember – everything has seemed so monotone.

Every day, it's the same thing. Wake up, breakfast, training. Lunch – more training. Dinner. Curfew.

It's routine.

He needs _change._

But he finds it strange that that's what he needs. After all, isn't arriving at the Roman camp change enough?

But what's stranger, is that everyone seems to want him to believe he's been here all his life.

They haven't said it to him outright, but it's a feeling.

Maybe this is how they treat all newcomers. But he's not sure. It feels colder here, harsher. Harsher than –

-he can't remember what he's referring to.

That's been happening a lot lately – trains of thought he can't complete.

His memory is like a leaf on the first day of autumn – desperately clinging to the tree branch before finally slipping away, torn away by the wind, drifting to the ground.

That's why when he wakes up one morning to more clatter than usual, he's relieved to see a wooden ship with a dragon for its mast and the words _Argo II _carved into it, pulling in the port.

He senses he's not meant to feel this relief.

Maybe it's instinct, or the way everyone seems to tense up at the mention of the word _Greek, _or maybe even the gaze of the old dragon's head on the boat, but it's a feeling.

He can't explain why he feels a vague sense of recognition when three people – a black haired, kaleidoscope-eyed girl, a boy with a toolbelt, and a girl with familiar blonde hair and misty grey eyes – step out from the boat's cabin.

He can't explain why he somehow knows exactly the source of this feeling – the blonde-haired girl – and why, the second he sees her, he knows that everything is going to be okay. But it's a feeling.

He can't explain why he immediately drops his hand from his sword, Anaklusmos (he doesn't know why he knows Ancient Greek, either), and starts moving towards the boat, his eyes on the grey-eyed girl.

He's almost there, but there's a tug on his wrist and he feels some vague irritation as he turns to see some girl he recalls to be _Reyna _telling him to keep away, and muttering something about Greeks. Her grip is strong, and he wonders if the tattoos on her arm have any effect on this.

That's another thing. Everyone at camp has tattoos on their arms. He doesn't.

There are gasps all around when a fourth person steps out of the boat. He can only see a shock of blond hair before everyone begins scuffling around, shouting, and moving towards the boy in a huge mob. Reyna's grip on his wrist has disappeared and he sees her practically _running _towards the boat, which, really, he finds hypocritical.

Everybody seems to be surrounding the boy with the blond hair for some reason he doesn't know, but he decides that's a good thing because he's the only one left standing in the clearing a good ten feet away from the boat – which means he has a better view of the grey-eyed girl.

She's standing in between the two other people, and seems to be searching for someone in the mob. But as Toolbelt says something in her ear and points, right at him, she looks up and freezes.

Her eyes lock onto his, traveling over his face, his arms, his hair – seemingly taking in every little detail he has on his body.

Normally this would disturb him, just like it did when the other campers scrutinized him his first day at camp, but with her, he doesn't mind. He doesn't know why, but he has a feeling she knows everything about him anyway.

He kind of likes it.

She steps closer to him, almost unconsciously, and he notices her hair, the way it's curled like a princess's.

Almost immediately, he hears the line _You drool when you sleep _echo through his mind, but it's gone before he can make anything of it, and he decides to brush it off. It can't be of any significance, anyway.

But as the girl steps closer, then closer, then closer again, he rethinks his words.

He's been brushing off words and flashbacks and memories for weeks now. Beautiful singing, a dangerous spa, an arch, killer sheep, a labyrinth, a burning river, owls, seaweed –

-they all come to him in bits and pieces, and individually, he doesn't find them to be of any real significance.

But it has to mean something – at least, that's what he's thinking as the grey-eyed, princess-curled girl nears him.

Behind her, the two people – Kaleidoscope and Toolbelt – are watching her, concern evident in their eyes, and for some reason, this irritates him.

He can't quite explain it, but he knows she can take care of herself – and he also knows that he could never bring himself to hurt her, either. There really is no reason to worry.

But as she nears him, he finds himself beginning to worry, too. He sees some sort of hysteria in her eyes, some wild hope, anxiety, and something else he can't quite identify.

She's close now, so close he can hear her breathing and her intake of breath when she brushes back her hair and stares at him.

This sends a jolt of recognition through his body but he doesn't quite know why.

She stares into his eyes and stares and stares, like she's looking for something, but apparently doesn't find what she's looking for there, because he sees her shoulders sink and something inside of her break.

She steps back, staring at him as if clinging to one last hope, then walks away.

He doesn't know what she was looking for.

.

It's been six days now since the arrival of the Greeks, and every day, the girl with the grey eyes and princess curls comes up to him and simply _looks _at him with those misty broken eyes as if she's still looking for something, and he feels himself tremble.

It makes him shiver.

But what she sees there apparently isn't what she's looking for – or, what he's beginning to think, what she _hopes _to see – so she just sighs and walks away.

When she does, he feels some inexplicable loss, an empty feeling in his stomach, and he wants to call her back, but he doesn't know how and it's not just because he doesn't know her name.

.

Things have become monotone again. Every day, it's the same routine. Wake up, breakfast, training. Lunch – more training. Dinner. Curfew.

Only this time, every day, the girl with the grey eyes and princess curls comes up to him and stares at him. He thinks she looks lost and alone (though she's never really _alone_) and he wants to help, but he has a feeling he'll only make it worse.

She never speaks.

Reyna is watching all this with growing disapproval.

So one day, when he's on his way to the dining hall, he isn't surprised to see Reyna and the girl with the grey eyes and princess curls in an argument. Their voices aren't quite loud enough for him to hear, or maybe he just isn't standing close enough, but he feels that if he only heard her voice, he would be able to figure out why she seems so familiar.

And he's talking about _her, _not Reyna.

Before he can move, however, he sees Reyna swing her sword, and it's too late.

This doesn't surprise him.

But what does surprise him is that almost immediately, the girl whips out a knife and parries the strike. She wields her dagger as if it's a second arm.

Reyna is good, far better than himself or anyone else in camp. And yet, the girl with the grey eyes and princess curls seems to be winning.

But he feels an impending danger, as his eyes scrutinize every move Reyna makes.

He feels a trick coming, intent on capturing the girl within its grasp.

It isn't like Reyna, not to throw in a feint in battle.

He doesn't know why or how, but suddenly, he's right there next to the girl with the grey eyes, fighting, and Riptide has just blocked the strike that should have cut the girl clean down the middle.

It's deadly silent, and everyone's looking at him and it feels so wrong and yet so right and the girl and Reyna are staring at him, everyone's staring at him and he just wants to disappear.

And so he does, dropping his sword and running into the woods where no one can find him.

.

He thought no one could find him.

And yet, there she is.

The girl with the princess curls.

She's holding Riptide in her hand.

He's been wondering why it hasn't reappeared in his pocket. _How _he knows it could reappear, he doesn't remember.

He doesn't know why he's not amazed at the fact that Reyna hasn't yet torn her to pieces with her sword.

Her eyes are clear and grey, reminding him of the mist over – over – over _something; _he's long since forgotten what.

She tosses him the sword, then shifts her weight to one leg, holding out her dagger in front of her.

He understands.

She wants to _fight._

So, not quite knowing why, he stands up and instinctively twirls his sword around his hand. It feels nice.

When their swords clang together in the air, he feels like he's finally doing something right.

Lately the Romans have been training him to fight in a completely different style than he's used to. He doesn't know _why _he's used to it, but somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice is whispering that if they only let him fight _his _way, he could beat them all. Because he's better than Reyna, after all.

Their blades clang in the air, and he doesn't really know what he's doing or why he feels like he knows exactly what he's doing, but suddenly, Riptide has been knocked out of his hand and her blade is at the small of his back.

His Achilles' spot.

He hasn't told anyone about it so he doesn't know why he's not shocked, but he is scared, and has never felt more vulnerable in his entire life.

"Who...who are you?" he whispers.

There's a slight note of triumph in her eyes.

But just as suddenly, something in her eyes seems to break, and she takes the dagger away and slips it into her sleeve.

Something about this action seems very familiar to him, but he can't remember what – and suddenly he's tired, tired of not knowing, tired of not remembering, tired of seeing memories and words and facts that he can't pin down. He remembers that he's supposed to remember, but he can't remember what he's supposed to remember and -

He's _tired._

He throws Riptide down at the ground in exasperation, but of course it bounces off of a rock and nails him in the foot.

The girl looks at him, slight amusement in her eyes. He doesn't have time to consider the sudden change in her mood because just then, two words slip out of her mouth and into his mind and throw him back in time:

"Seaweed Brain."

It's her voice, her _voice _that does it.

He remembers.

Not everything, but he remembers what matters.

He remembers bits and pieces.

He doesn't remember _her_ – not exactly who she is – but –

-he looks at her eyes and now he knows that they are the exact same shade of the mist over the Sirens' island.

He doesn't know why he knows this, but it's something and it's everything.

She's looking down again, her momentary amusement disappearing like morning dew on a hot summer's day.

"Wise Girl," he says suddenly.

She looks up at him, startled.

"I just know bits and pieces, but...it's a start," he says, uncertainty still laced through his voice, but hope lighting his eyes.

And she squeezes his fingers. "It's a start," she whispers, and he can't help but smile.

.

_And I'll take your hand, and lead you back through the path of your soul._

* * *

><p>AN: Thoughts?

_inspired by 'The Little Things' by May Lily; quote in italics from 'My Lost Hero' by past decembers (me)._

-Bridgit x


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